Ever the Same
by 1848EllisBell
Summary: Post ep for 1x13. But, God, she wants to cry - for the loss that's yet to come. People leave her. People die. Every. Damn. Time.


**Summary:**

Post ep for 1x13._  
>But, God, she wants to cry - for the loss that's yet to come.<br>People leave her. People die.  
>Every. Damn. Time.<em>

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong>

**First attempt at a Forever fic. Short ficlet while I try to get inside the heads of these characters. Posted on AO3 under the Orphan Account.**

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><p>She keeps her cheek resting against her knuckles, keeps her head from falling upon Henry's shoulder once more. It was nice, comfortable, but the contact had been brief. She's still learning how to let people get close to her again, still learning to accept the touch of another.<p>

Even dinners with Hanson and his family have been turned down, preferring to lock herself in a home once shared, and lose herself in a bottle of whisky, than watch a husband and wife tease each other good naturedly while kids fought as only siblings could.

She would have been alone tonight, were it not for this man who recently enetered her life. Alone, curled up on her couch, each swig of alcohol numbing it all just a little more while her husband's voice, his face, filled their home once more. She still thinks of it as theirs, still isn't ready to let go. Hasn't really faced it at all if she's being honest. Alcohol, late nights that turned into early mornings, casual sex…_ Thank God_, she thinks,_ for Henry._ For their paths crossing, the partnership that formed, this friendship that's blossoming. For this drinking buddy who watches over her, and ensures she gets home safe, whether to her own bed or Abe's couch. For late nights spent in his company, unwittingly keeping her from walks of shame. The last strange bed she slept in was the night before meeting him. She can't help but read into that, silently, as she sits, her side pressed to his, her knuckles keeping her head from drooping against his shoulder and stealing just a little more comfort from him.

Henry, who turns up on her doorstep now, as she has done his, and who will again, like on this night, offer some company when the lines around her eyes have etched too deep, the circles beneath have become charcoal smudges, and the redness can't be denied. Henry, who she thinks she might never shake from her life now. Henry, who she honestly doesn't want to lose.

But she will…

She pulls back, sits up straight, and his hand is jostled off her shoulder from her sudden movement. She feels his eyes boring into her profile, can almost see the confusion in them, but she stares straight ahead, clenches her mug of hot cocoa a little tighter, and stays in control.

But, God, she wants to cry - for the loss that's yet to come.

People leave her. People die.

Every. Damn. Time.

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><p>"Jo?" he asks, his voice low with concern for her sudden shift in position.<p>

She's been silent for too long, so she shakes her head, but her eyes remain fixed on the street beyond the steps. "It's nothing," she lies.

"It isn't nothing," he says, "but perhaps talking is unnecessary tonight." His arm slides around her again, his large palm cups her shoulder, and he tugs her back to him, but her body remains a little rigid, her head not yet ready to come to rest against his shoulder. He rubs her upper arm, turns his head, and breathes into her hair, "Thank you for trusting me."

Painfully aware of what he's referring to - her head still throbbing a little - she gives a small shrug against his shoulder. "You know death."

"I do," he affirms, his words holding more truths than she is aware, and at the same time lies. Because if he knew death that well, if he understood it at all, he might unravel this curse.

"I never doubted you."

"But you doubt something," he observes, the warmth of his breath melting the snowflakes in her hair. It's freezing out here, yet neither make a move to go inside, head for home.

"I-" She hesitates, drops her gaze to the cooling mug in her hands, and purses her lips in thought. She lifts her chin, meets his eyes, and gives him a tight smile. "We're friends, and I'm so thankful for whatever twist of fate brought you into my life but... "

"You're scared of losing people. You doubt they will remain in your life, because you've suffered loss."

"Yeah," she breathes out, her whole body deflating on that exhaled puff of air.

"You can't let the unknown stop you."

She lets out a mirthless chuckle, and averts her eyes. Putting a little space between them, she asks, "And when was the last time you let someone in?"

"Oh, about three months ago when a certain homicide detective stepped into my morgue."

"You call the last three months letting someone in?"

"For me," he says in a soft voice, "it is."

She meets his eyes, and her own eyes soften as she holds his unwavering gaze. "I think we're good for each other," she muses.

"I know we are." He flashes her a warm smile, and gives her shoulder a light squeeze. This time, when he eases her back against his side, her head follows and finds its home against his shoulder.

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><p>They sit on the step, until the cold can no longer be ignored, and with stiff limbs they help each other to their feet, and she calls him a cab. She takes his empty mug from him, graces him with a shy smile, and says, "Goodnight, Henry."<p>

There's an odd look in his eyes, a flash of something she can't quite identify, and for a moment she thinks he is leaning in to kiss her. But then he catches himself, straightens his spine, and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. "Goodnight, Jo."

She stands at the top of the stairs, until he has slipped into the back of the taxi and pulled the door closed. He gives her a small wave, and she nods in return. She waits until the taillights have disappeared from sight, before she slips back into her quiet home.

Her home.

And she feels warmer now, cared for in a way that is new for her. And while the doubt remains, something inside her almost believes he won't leave her.

But everyone always does.


End file.
